


Diamond Tears

by mollymauks



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: (apologies if i used the wrong tags anywhere), Alucard is Sad and Angsty and that is my Forte, Alucard's POV, Gen, No Beta, Post Season 2, Season 2 spoilers, and i'm not really sure what i'm doing with my life but hey!, but....that is for another fic, i intend to have trevor and sypha come rescue him, it exists and i posted it, pls enjoy the sadness, purely based on the Netflix show, so i dived in and made a sad, this is just a stream of consciousness/character study/character introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/mollymauks
Summary: CASTLEVANIA SEASON 2 SPOILERSAfter Dracula's death, Alucard finds himself alone and grieving for two parents he's only just lost, along with what feels like his humanity.





	Diamond Tears

Tears streamed from his eyes like liquid diamonds as grief closed its arms around his chest like a vice grip.

Dead.

They were both dead.

Alone.

He was alone.

The huge castle had seemed so magical when he’d been a boy, able to travel wherever his father willed it with half a thought. It had burst with the collected knowledge of centuries. Planets had danced through his father’s work room. Fabulous potions had sprung from his mother’s fingertips. His room had sparkled with stars.

It had seemed the most wondrous thing when he’d been a child. It had still been the most wondrous thing on the day his mother had died. That day he stopped being a child forever.

It had been his home. The place that was warmed by his mother’s radiance, her thirst for life, her need to improve herself, and the world around her each day. It was the place that had seen his father’s love for him, and for his mother. It was where all three of them had been born, where they had lived, and loved, and dreamed. 

Now the echoing halls no longer ran with his mother’s laughter, but with silent screams he heard, even though no other soul, alive or dead, stalked these corridors anymore. Not even a breath of wind dared disturb this place.

The castle reeked of death and isolation.

Before they had left, he had told Belmont it could be his grave. But it was worse than that. So much worse. It was his prison.

And he well deserved it. A grave would have been too good for him. It would have given him peace he did not deserve. It would have reunited him with parents that must surely loathe him for what he had done.

He had not saved his mother. He had killed his father. It was only right that he live here with their ghosts, in a castle whose walls had once been painted with happy memories of his childhood, they now ran red with blood that wept from them like his tears.

He curled in on himself even more, his forehead pressed to the ground, and a scream burst from his ragged throat before he could stop it.

Magic exploded from him. It was a raw, uncontained thing, not shaped to fire, or directed towards travel. It ripped through the quiet room, the small, untouched oasis of peace that had not been damaged by the war that had been fought within these walls.

When he could bare to look up, he saw that this room was no longer a safe haven of calm any more. Books had been ripped from the walls. The elegant, straight-backed chair in which his father had sat and held him as a child, and read him books on philosophy and science, while his mother laughed at the sight of a baby enthralled by the laws of physics, was shattered and broken.

This was his legacy. Destruction. And violence. And death. That was what he had been made for.

Prophecies existed about the murder he would do. From his birth, he had been destined for this. To kill his father to honour his dead mother. What kind of a life was that? What kind of a travesty did that make him?

They had called him the Sleeping Soldier. It was a lie that he had forced to become a twisted truth. He had never been to war before. He had never spilled blood before. He had never raised his sword in violence before they woke him, and called him a soldier, _needed_ him to be a soldier. So that was what he had become.

He had been trained. His father had insisted upon it, had shown him how to control himself, and his body, and his skills. He had strength that was alien to the human side of him, and he had needed that focus, and that discipline. But it had been a game. An exercise. An experiment.

A faint, hysterical laugh now burst from him at the thought that his father had given him all the tools and training required to fulfil that prophecy. His father had trained his own killer.

He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slowly back and forth on the spot. It was a twisted parody of the times his father had held him.

His father had been the gentle one. No-one was ever willing to believe that. They could not see the dread lord, Vlad Dracula Tepes, as the one to cradle his child close and offer them comfort. But he had. Whenever he had cried, whenever he had had his childish, petty problems which he had shed tears over, he had run to his father.

And his father had been there, always. Had scooped him up and promised a miserable end for whatever unfortunate creature or thing had caused his child pain. He had loved so fiercely, and so deeply, both him and his mother.

Alucard had never known Dracula. Not until his mother’s death. Before then, it had always been just his father. His father, who had known so many fascinating things, and told such wonderful stories, in his favourite chair by the fire. His father, who had been terrified of ever holding or touching his child, scared of causing them harm. And so every touch, and every word, and every gesture towards him had been as gentle as it had been possible for him to make it.

His father...His father whom he had killed.

His mother had not been cold, not by any stretch of the imagination. But she had been the one who, if he had fallen, or injured himself in training, had smiled at his little child’s wound. She had been the one with the ointments and salves that had stung as they healed him. She had been the one who kissed his bumps, and bruises, had told him to learn from them, and to grow strong from them.

She had been the one who had encouraged him to learn to fly. His father likely still wouldn’t have wanted that, for fear that he would fall and injure himself. He had grown up so quickly in his immortal father’s eyes. Eighteen years and his mother’s people called him a man, while for his father, he was barely older than the blink of an eye, or the single beat of a heart.

His mother had pushed him, and encouraged him. She had wanted him to explore. She had wanted him to adventure. She had wanted him to grow and learn from the real world, not just the dusty books in his father’s study. She had wanted him to _live_ and to love life, as she did, to live each day as though he were mortal, and had to make each one count, for they would not last.

His parents. He had loved them. Both of them. It was easy to see him as Lisa’s child, and Lisa’s child alone. It was easy for others, like Sypha, and Belmont, for all their good intentions, to imagine that he had not been close with his father. They thought of him as cold, and cruel, and disinterested in his child. No doubt they thought Lisa had raised him alone, that his father had created him and then taken no interest.

They were wrong. Vlad Tepes had doted on his child from the moment Alucard had been born. He had wanted to care for him, had wanted to teach him, to play with him, to be a good father to him.

And he had been. He had been a good father. The best. And now he was gone. And he had done that.

When he closed his eyes, he could still feel his father’s blood on his hands. He could still hear the break in his voice as he had looked at him one last time, and whispered “son,” as though seeing him, truly, for the first time since his mother had died.

Now he was alone. Utterly alone for the first time in his life. And he had just lost both of his parents, in, what felt to him, the span of only a few weeks.

He wanted to return to Gresit. He wanted to tell Belmont to go fuck himself, and his supposed gift, this crumbling, echoing ruin, filled with all the knowledge on how to kill creatures like him, and keep it safe. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to climb into that coffin and close his eyes and sink into the oblivion of _nothing._

But he hardly deserved that, now did he?

This was his place. This empty, echoing castle, filled with the memories of all those he had loved, and lost, as a constant reminder of what he had done to them. This would be his penance.

He would haunt these halls, cold and alone, as his father had been before his mother had come for him. He would preserve and protect all the knowledge that was now his. He would remain tortured by the visions of his past until he too went mad, and someone hopefully came to put him out of his misery.

He was the ghost of Castlevania. Half-human, and half-vampire. Not dead, but neither was he truly alive. Not now. Not after what he had done. He had fulfilled his prophecy. Now all that remained was to fulfil his purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! my first foray into Castlevania fic/Alucard but...Probably not my last tbh. Esp if comments are left. 
> 
> Also you can come join me: http://caduceusstea.tumblr.com/ if you so desire. shoot me an ask, I will happily take any fic prompts with Alucard in them!


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